


Used to It

by sunshinetina



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Love, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-16
Updated: 2014-12-16
Packaged: 2018-03-01 19:33:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2785118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sunshinetina/pseuds/sunshinetina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is not used to the chest pain, though. That was a lie.</p>
<p>He is never used to Mario either.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Used to It

**Author's Note:**

> I am not very pleased by this story but anyways... Here it is! I honestly don't know how it happened.
> 
> P.S. I'll love you forever if you comment. ;p xx

_It’s good_ , Marco thinks, _It’s good lying next to him like this, not doing anything, not thinking about anything, not focusing on anything._

_..._

_Who am I lying? It’s the best feeling in the world._

‘What are you thinking of?’ Mario half-whispers, half-purrs, and Marco lets his crooked smile brighten his face. Shrugs while looking down at Mario, who – with his tongue stuck out – is in the deepest concentration while playing Flappy Bird on his phone.

 

‘You.’

 

Mario pauses the game and moves up only his eyes, his perfectly shaped eyebrows rising up. Marco chuckles.

 

‘Not much to think of, when I am here, hm?’

 

‘Will you be here forever, though?’

 

‘Marco...’

 

Marco shuffles, putting his hands under his cheek and lovingly staring at Mario, with adoring smile.

 

‘Say it again.’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘My name. Say it.’

 

Mario giggles and throws his phone aside, arranging himself on the bed (almost falling off, with all the sheets entangled in his legs), and positioning his face right against Marco’s. Marco is ready to swear he can count every single eyelash while Mario blinks several times, trying to focus on Marco’s green eyes.

 

‘Marco...’ it’s almost inaudible but it sends a shiver – no, an _electric_ shiver – up and down, down and up Marco’s spine. Mario senses it and chuckles quietly, biting his lip.

 

Marco moves one of his hands and his fingers brush Mario’s hair off his forehead. He plucks it a bit, making Mario slightly open his mouth and let out a shaking breath. Marco’s eyes instinctively stick to Mario’s lips and he licks his own, without thinking.

 

‘I missed this,’ Marco is whispering, like someone would come in the room at this very moment and interrupt them, ‘I missed having you here, with me. I won’t ever let you go.’

 

‘But, eventually, you’d have to.’

 

‘I won’t,’ Marco grins, his fingers lost in the abyss of Mario’s hair, ‘You’ll stay here, as my hostage.’

 

Mario lifts his eyebrows again and clicks his tongue. Moves up a bit, his nose almost touching Marco’s.

 

‘You can’t do a single thing, you’re injured.’

 

‘Try me,’ Marco smirks and Mario laughs at his mouth before sitting up, legs crossed under his body.

 

‘Do you remember my first night here?’

 

Marco laughs loudly and Mario pouts like a small kid, although a tiny smile reveals him.

 

‘I had to drag your drunk ass all around Dortmund. And you were singing!’

 

‘That’s why you dragged me in-here – you wanted a private concert.’

 

‘Of course I did,’ they both burst into giggles before Mario regains his breath, ‘My head was a total mess the other day.’

 

Marco nods slightly, his smirk getting mixed up with a slight blush.

 

‘Do you remember the next nights here?’

 

‘Yeah...’ Mario’s eyes sparkle so brightly, it’s impossible for Marco to miss them, even in the dark room, ‘Every single one of them.’

 

‘After the last one, I kept the sheets unchanged for six months,’ they keep silent, dropping their smiles and looking away from each other, ‘They still smelt of you.’

 

Marco’s whisper makes Mario gulp and close his eyes, pursing his lips.

 

‘Why did I take your jersey with me in Brazil, you think? It smelt of you so much,’ Mario opens his eyes again, but still doesn’t look at Marco, ‘Heck, I even slept in it before the final.’

 

‘You didn’t.’

 

Mario only nods in response, ‘As pathetic as it sounds, I did. And look where it got me.’

 

‘What got you there was your tale-...’

 

‘Don’t,’ Mario shakes his head and Marco stretches his hand, desperately trying to reach Mario’s hair. His fingers only linger in the air, ‘Don’t even go there. Everyone else praises me, don’t do it as well. Not you.’

 

‘They praise you for your football skills, I praise you for-...’

 

‘For what?’ Mario snaps and looks at Marco, his lips trembling, ‘For transferring to Bayern? For leaving Dortmund? For running away from you?’

 

‘You did the right thing.’

 

‘I did,’ Mario smiles slightly, ‘I did. Then, why does it hurt so much?’

 

‘You know what my doctors said about the injury?’ Marco drags himself closer to Mario and cups his face, ‘That my ankle may get better but it would always hurt a bit. Yet, I’d get used to it. _You_ will get used to it, Sunny. I did. And I have always been the greater whine-boy from us two.’

 

Mario lets out a nervous laugh and Marco smiles, leaning closer and brushing his lips over Mario’s nose.

 

‘Don’t you hate me?’ Marco frowns at Mario’s question, ‘For leaving you. At least a bit?’

 

‘No, I hate myself,’ Marco shrugs when Mario’s eyes go wide, ‘For loving you way too much to think about feeling something else,’ they keep silent and Marco laughs nervously, ‘Yeah, _that_ pathetic.’

 

Mario, however, leans closer and... The kiss doesn’t exist, it doesn’t, right? It’s just a gentle brush of Mario’s lips on Marco’s, just a breath entangled in a breath, just a childish giggle mixed in a childish giggle when Marco starts tickling Mario, rolling them into the bedsheets to the point of disabling them to move at all.

 

‘Marco?’

 

‘Hm?’

 

‘It doesn’t matter one of us is in Munich and the other one is in Dortmund, is that so?’

 

‘No, Sunny, it doesn’t. Go in another universe if you want, the distance still won’t matter to me.’

 

Mario beams in a smile and Marco presses him closer to himself, chin buried in his hair. Mario lets out a muffled laugh in Marco’s collarbone.

 

‘Then... I will always love you all the way from Munich to Dortmund and back,’ Mario lacks breath, pressed at Marco, leaving wet traces on his skin as he talks.

 

‘Just as little?’ Marco fakes a pout and Mario chuckles again.

 

‘The way a snail makes it through the journey.’

 

‘You know, he’ll still make it, sooner or later.’

 

‘Nah...’ Mario snuggles closer and breathes in Marco’s scent. Marco’s smell. Marco’s everything. Marco, who is now hugging him tightly and breathing in his hair in unequal intervals, ‘It’ll get lost at some point.’

 

‘And give up?’

 

‘Never,’ Marco smiles and absent-mindedly kisses Mario’s forehead, ‘It will pause, it will walk, it will turn back, but it will never _ever_ complete the journey.’

 

_I will never ever stop loving you_ is what Mario’s mind screams and, even left unspoken, Marco hears it and nods before closing his eyes and falling asleep.

 

He will wake up tomorrow, as he always wakes up when Mario spends the night here. Alone. Covered in his warm bedsheets. All smelling of Mario. And a killing pain in his right ankle. He doesn’t want to be used to it.

 

He is not used to the chest pain, though. That was a lie.

 

He is never used to Mario either. Or to the bedsheets. Or to his name being half-whispered. Or to the tiny drawing of what-seems-to-be a snail, which he finds on the pillow next to him. Or to the breathy _Ich liebe dich, Marco_ he heard right before falling asleep last night.

 

Breathing in, breathing out.

 

_Ich liebe dich auch, Sunny._

(He is used to that.)


End file.
